


Face it, You Love Me

by knees_of_bees



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 19-year-olds, Auror Harry Potter, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Facetime, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I Love You, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Harry Potter, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Teenagers, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22880944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knees_of_bees/pseuds/knees_of_bees
Summary: The awkward stumbling sweetness of a new relationship.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 122





	Face it, You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> Summer after 8th year, during which they grew close. Harry was fast-tracked through Auror training when school ended. They‘ve only shared a handful of kisses and just started dating.

The smell of cigarettes stained the coarse linen sheets, despite the “No Smoking” sign. Mildew crept through the ceiling and bugs crawled through carpet fibers. Harry could care less, as long as the WiFi worked.

He hit the FaceTime button, willing his boyfriend to pick up.

 _\--- Harry James Potter Has A Nice Arse wants FaceTime ---_

_It’s late,_ crackled Draco’s voice through the speaker. His face appeared, tired and irritated. Harry grinned.

“Hey gorgeous, how’s London?”

_Why did I let you anywhere near my phone? You’ve screwed up all of my contacts._

“I left the names in, didn’t I?”

_Hardly. ‘Plunky Plunkington’? ‘Blaise Zucchini’? And yours is just embarrassing._

“You're welcome.” 

_Have I mentioned it’s late?_

“It’s not even midnight.”

Draco deadpanned, wispy white waves falling in his eyes.

_I go to bed at 9. You know this._

“And you know that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

_You’re on a case, dipshit. If you don’t get sleep you’re hardly going to be able to—_

“Alright, if you don’t wanna talk then I’ll just catcha later,” Harry drawled, moving his finger toward the red circle.

_Wait, Harry wait._

Harry smiled. He rolled onto his side and nestled into the pillows, glasses askew. “Try to be less of an asshole, okay? They sent me here right after Auror training and I couldn’t decline my first mission. Trust me, I wish I was there.

Draco scoffed. _I don’t know what you’re insinuating._

“That you miss me.”

Draco’s face softened. He said nothing, just stared through the screen at Harry, who was trying to memorize the shapes of warm lamplight on Draco’s skin. Vulnerability twinged in his light eyes, blond lashes barely visible.

_Hey, it’s midnight now._ Draco said. _Happy birthday, Harry James Potter._

“That’s Harry James Potter ‘Has A Nice Arse’ to you,” Harry said seriously.

Draco rolled his eyes. _Welcome to 19_.

“I feel at least a decade older than that.”

_And yet you’re still a virgin._

“This again?” sighed Harry.

Draco smirked. _My Golden Boy._

“Yeah, well,” Harry shot, “some of us were busy defeating Voldemort.”

_The Savior of Chastity._

He snorted. “Shut up. 19 isn’t even that old.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. _No, it isn’t._ The mockery had faded from his voice. _You don’t have to be accomplished at everything all the time, Potter. In all seriousness._

Warmth spread through Harry’s chest. Draco treated him like a person.

To most of the Wizarding world, he was a two-dimensional hero who knew where to go from here. But Draco saw him, uncertainty and all, and he cared. Harry didn’t know how to convey how much it he loved that.

He settled on “Thanks.”

Draco nodded. He cleared his throat. _So…_

“So.”

_What’s this hellhole in the background? The press would have a fit if they knew the Ministry put Harry Potter in a room that looks like it houses drug dealer orgies._

Harry breathed a laugh through his nose. “I just missed the orgy, it was last night.”

 _Bummer._

“It’s not all that bad, though. The mold patches on the ceiling come in some fun shapes. See,” he flipped his phone camera, “that one’s a lopsided snitch.”

 _Turn me around immediately, Potter!_ screeched his phone.

“I’m telling you, this is your OCD acting up,” Harry laughed, flipping the camera back.

Draco scowled. _Made up disease._

“No, I’m serious, Hermione was telling me all about it, and—”

_Oh, please, any rational human is disgusted by the thought of sleeping beneath those colonies._

“Hey, I’d take this place over the Dursley’s any day.”

 _Shit, Potter._ Draco shifted awkwardly in the frame. _I forget about that sometimes._ His eyes flickered away, and then back to Harry. _No more of that. I’ll make sure of it. As long as I’m around you’re getting presents on Christmas and a warm bed to sleep on and zero dark wizard overlords._

Harry’s stomach fluttered. Draco made it sound as though he planned to stay around. He couldn’t help but imagine holidays with Draco, traditions and warmth and banter, seeing his face every day.

He was constantly searching for clues that Draco liked him. He tried to tell himself that he had no reason to be anxious. He was the ‘Chosen One,’ for what it was worth, and they were boyfriends, yet he found himself worrying that maybe Draco wasn’t all that invested.

Here was Draco, though, fuzzily lit and unsure and blushing.

It made him smile.

They looked at each other for awhile, warm under covers, blanketed by static. Harry felt his eyes drooping but he didn’t want to hang up. Not quite yet.

He closed his eyes but only for a moment. A moment. He just needed to better hear Draco’s breathing.

~

There was a rap on the door.

“Wha...?” Sleep was in Harry’s eyes, soft static in his ears.

The rap came again. “Morning, Potter. Breakfast in 10.” Footsteps disappeared down the hall.

 _Who’s in my house,_ came a sleepy voice from Harry’s pillow. Harry grasped for his phone and squinted at the bright screen.

 _Oh. Hello Harry,_ Malfoy slurred.

Harry snorted. “Your hair...”

At that, Draco snapped his eyes all the way open. _Don’t get me started on hair, Potter. The was a dung beetle massacre, and someone dumped the corpses on your head. Beetle legs are the only explanation for the way your hair sticks in every direction._ Draco’s analogies were so dramatically obscure.

“What can I say?” yawned Harry. “I’m a dung model.”

_You’re a dork._

“And that’s why you love me.”

It took Harry a moment to realize what he’d said. Perhaps Draco hadn’t caught it, and they could breeze past the awkward slip up. But Draco looked a bit panicked.

“Forget I said that, it just kinda, I didn’t mean it like that. I should get ready.”

 _You should get ready,_ Draco echoed.

“Alright, er, talk to you later.”

Draco nodded dumbly.

_Harry._

His thumb froze over the button. “Yeah?”

Shakily, Draco breathed. _I do, love you. Just so you’re aware._

Harry grinned. He said nothing for fear of what sound might escape his mouth.

_Happy birthday, Nice Arse Potter._

Draco ended the call.

Wound full of weightless energy, Harry dressed and brushed his teeth, slamming the door behind him with vigor and a barely-contained smiled.


End file.
